


Comfort

by NoelBlue



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Headcanon, Humor, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelBlue/pseuds/NoelBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris' master is finally dead, and after three years of carefully avoiding the topic of their one-night stand and its uncomfortable ending the former Tevinter slave is ready to be Hawke's lover. They have made love once, but they still have a few things to discuss. A bit of wine, a borrowed shirt, and some elf-ear flicking ensues as the two start to experiment with just how much they've been missing. A pinch of the erotic with a dash of playful, this fic also contains trace amounts of emo. (Because, of course, it's Fenris!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the Fenris quest "Alone".

She sat in his winged chair, the one he liked to read in, wearing his black house shirt and drinking from an open bottle of wine. Fenris wasn't sure how long the bottle had been there, but Hawke seemed pleased enough with its contents.

Her long white legs were crossed and gently bobbing, one set of toes weaving in the air to their own rhythm, and her hair was wild around her face.

"You are beautiful, Hawke," he said, walking up and pulling one of the dining chairs next to hers. He wore only trousers; he leaned towards the fire and its beckoning warmth.

"Come closer," she ordered, and as soon as he did so she swung her legs over his knees, causing him to smile and put his hands on her cool skin. She made a noise awfully similar to a purr and shifted her torso downwards so she was low in the seat and close enough to touch him. She offered him the bottle, and he shook his head.

"I was worried you had left me," he began to knead her calf, feeling the strong muscles underneath, "exacting well-deserved retribution."

Hawke laughed, throaty and thrilling, and stretched to put the wine down on the floor. "If I had wanted retribution, Fenris, I would have taken action long ago. I am not a patient woman."

"You say that, and yet." he quirked his mouth ruefully, "I was thoughtless and mercurial, but you remained my friend, continuing to teach me to read, allowing me to stay by your side... I must have tried your patience sorely."

"Mmmm." She closed her eyes. "I found it best not to dwell too much on you, or it would drive me mad. If that's patience, it's also delusion - if I ignored how I felt those emotions didn't exist, no? Did you not do the same?"

He snorted. "I wish, but no. All I did was think, and remember, and regret."

"Then you are the patient one, with all your brooding and considerations. And, more importantly, you are special."

"Am I?"

"Of course. I may have lost Fenris the lover, but I barely had him. Fenris the friend and companion? Him I couldn't lose. I took what I was offered, and it was enough."

His fingers ran the length of her lower leg, from knee to toe, with infinite slowness. "That's the highest praise, coming from the champion of Kirkwall. Especially for a former Tevinter slave elf, a confused creature who forgot he sought the very thing he despises most. I am no prize."

Hawke stretched like a cat, smiling with pleasure at his touch. "And I am still a refugee apostate mage, loathed by one half of Kirkwall and viewed with suspicious awe by the other. And yet despite all that - and how discomforted you are by my magic -" she wiggled her toes, and he grabbed them and held them tight, feeling their squirmy rebellion. "You are still here. We are a pair, I think."

"We are," Fenris looked into the fire, releasing his fingers just enough to spread them over her the top of her foot, "as I know no peace without you, mage or no." He let go, and moved to her ankles. "If you had said we were to be friends, no more, I would still be with you, serving, helping, watching. But -" he traveled to her muscles, but this time his fingers were firmer and more insistent, and goosebumps rose on her flesh in response, "I would be miserable, and live a life of regret."

Reaching forward she ran her fingers through his hair before giving his ear a tweak, causing him to narrow his eyes. "But was there pain, or memories? I saw how tense you were at first...but I know about you and Isabela, so perhaps things have changed." She pulled back, and looked into the fire. "I don't want to push you."

He pinched her thigh, and she yelped. "That hurt, you beast!"

"Good. I and the Rivaini did not last long, as you well know," Fenris' voice was a growl, "and it felt very different with her - there was physical relief and no more. Tonight, with you: yes, there was pain, yes, and again, memories that appeared then left - but this time I hoped for them and sought them out." he took her hand. "The agony is exquisite, it takes the horror of when I received my tattoos and binds it to pleasure. The memories are bliss. I fled before because loving you was freedom and ecstasy, and I was not yet free. Now I am; thus now I am yours."

"So you won't be slipping out?" her voice was light, teasing, almost as if she was telling a joke. Fenris admired her mastery of humor as a shield, but brushed it aside.

"You will never be rid of me, now. I fear for the moment when this is over, and you must go." His hands moved up to her thighs.

"But I will be back," she said, "and again, as many times as you allow."

"Then you shall be back continuously and eternally," Fenris swore, and reached over to pull her forward by her hips, lifting her with little effort as she over the arm of the chair and planting her firmly in his lap. She cursed at him then fell laughing, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His own hands fell around her waist then pushed upwards under his shirt, running over the nakedness underneath. In response she swung her leg over his body, straddling him, and what was once hard became granite.

She pulled back far enough to smile at him, that bright, amused grin that had disarmed men and women far more resistant to her charms than he, and with a husky growl he kissed her hard.

Wiggling playfully Hawke kissed him back, reaching down to free him from his pants and guided him towards her wetness, lifting her hips then firmly sliding down until he was fully inside her.

"Hawke..." he said her name desperately and with a touch of wonder. Maker, the pain, and then the wondrous pleasure - it was astounding. "Only with you," he whispered, "only in your flesh, your eyes..." He had wanted to elaborate on those emotions, reassure her, but his ability to speak was fleeting and he was quickly unable to think. His shirt tumbled open on her chest and he buried his face in her perfect breasts, hissing as the searing sensation of her fingernails on his back mingled with the beautiful yearning ache that infused everything. There were those images again, dancing through his brain, and they teased him with a past he couldn't hold onto. He welcomed them and let them go, letting the intangible emotions they evoked overtake his senses. She rode him and they came one after the other, laughing then gasping, her mouth buried in his hair.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, as Fenris couldn't speak at first, couldn't move as his body assimilated the pleasure and pain. Three years ago it was after that paralysis that he had panicked, recognizing instantly what it signified and being unable to accept it.

Now he was prepared, and welcomed the understanding that being with Hawke and becoming her lover equaled a new, sublime form of bondage. "I am a slave anew," he said softly, and smiled into her shoulder.

Her hands landed on the side of his face, and she pulled back to stare at him. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." He then picked her up, ignored her yell of surprise, and carried her to the bed. He dropped her gently before falling in besides her. He found great pleasure in surprising Hawke - it was the least she deserved. She rolled over, and he pulled her close; she made a noise and buried her nose in his skin.

"Hawke."

"You keep saying my family name, elf," she said sleepily.

"Naomi, then."

"That's a bit better. Yes?"

"You mentioned others; or, to be exact, you mentioned Isabela. But you also had your lovers. Do you desire others?"

She reached up and flicked his ear, and he shook his head in annoyance. "No, my glowing warrior, I do not. I feel as you do. I spent three years attempting to take the sting off of not being able to have you. That is all they ever were, palliatives. I wanted you. Now I have you, the underlying ailment is cured, and those 'others' are gone."

"Yes, that's it exactly," he was pleased. Perhaps he could not make her feel what he did, but he would damned well try. "Good. You are mine and mine only, Hawke, and I shall ensure you enjoy it." His tone was combative, even pugnacious, and he hugged her fiercely.

She laughed in delight. "Oh, I like that promise, I do. I shall hold you to it."

"You better, woman," he snarled, and she reached up to tweak his ear again. In response he rolled over her, and muffled her mirth with kisses.


End file.
